Lovers Made Men (The Masque at Lord Hay's) · chunk 1 of 2
Jonson, Ben · published 1641 · first performed or written 1617 [Feb 22] (Annals) masque unassigned nearest T36 Hell, Furies and the language of punishm · 420 words · other edition — not in the analysis
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T36: hell, earth, gods, death, ghosts, blood, bloody, heaven, night, ghost.
NAy, faint not now, so near the fields of rest. Here no more furies, no more torments devil, Than each hath felt already in his breast; Who hath been once in love, hath proved his Hell. Up than, and follow this my golden rod, That points you next to aged LETHE'S shore, Who pours his waters from his urn abroad, Of which but tasting, you shall faint no more. Stay, who, or what fantastic shades are these That HERMES leads? They are the gentle forms, Of Lovers, tossed upon those frantic seas, Whence VENUS sprung. And have rid out her storms? No. Did they perish? Yes. How? Drowned by love, That drew them forth with hopes as smooth as were Th'unfaithful waters he desired them prove. And turned a tempest, when he had them there? He did, and on the billow would he roll, And laugh to see one throw his heart away, Another sighing, vapour forth his soul, A third, to melt himself in tears, and say, O Love, I now to salter water turn Than that I die in; than, a fourth, to cry Amid the surges; o! I burn, I burn: A fift, laugh out, it is my ghost, not I And thus in pairs I found'hem. Only one There is, that walks, and stops, and shakes his head, And shuns the rest, as glad to be alone, And whispers to himself, he is not dead. Not more are all the rest. Not: No. But, why Proceeds this doubtful voice from destiny? It is too sure. Sure? I. Thinks MERCURY, That any things, or names on earth do die, That are obscured from knowledge of the FATES, Who keep all rolls? And know all nature's dates? They say themselves, theyare dead. It not appears. Or, by our rock. Our spindle. Or our shears. Here all their threads are growing, yet none cut. I'gin to doubt, that Love with charms hath put This fantasy in'hem; and they only think That they are ghosts. If so, than let'hem drink Of LETHE'S stream. 'Twill make'hem to forget LOVES name. And so, they may recover yet! Do, bow unto the reverend lake: And having touched there; up, and shake The shadows of, which yet do make Us you, and you your-selves mistake. See! see! they are themselves again! Yes, now theyare substances, and men. LOVE, at the name of LETHE flies. For, in oblivion drowned, he dies. He must not hope, though other states He often subdue, he can the FATES.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
NAy, faint not now, ſo neere the fields of reſt. Here no more furies, no more torments dwell, Then each hath felt alreadie in his breſt; Who hath beene once in love, hath prov'd his Hell. Up then, and follow this my golden rod, That points you next to aged LETHES ſhore, Who poures his waters from his urne abroad, Of which but taſting, you ſhall faint no more. Stay, who, or what phantaſtique ſhades are theſe That HERMES leades? They are the gentle formes, Of Lovers, toſt upon thoſe frantique ſeas, Whence VENVS ſprung. And have rid out her ſtorms? No. Did they periſh? Yes. How? Drown'd by love, That drew them forth with hopes as ſmooth as were Th'unfaithfull waters he deſir'd them prove. And turn'd a tempeſt, when he had them there? He did, and on the billow would he roule, And laugh to ſee one throw his heart away, Another ſighing, vapour forth his ſoule, A third, to melt himſelfe in teares, and ſay, O Love, I now to ſalter water turne Then that I die in; then, a fourth, to crie Amid the ſurges; oh! I burne, I burne: A fift, laugh out, it is my ghoſt, not I. And thus in paires I found'hem. Onely one There is, that walkes, and ſtops, and ſhakes his head, And ſhuns the reſt, as glad to be alone, And whiſpers to himſelfe, he is not dead. No more are all the reſt. No: No. But, why Proceeds this doubtfull voyce from deſtiny? It is too ſure. Sure? I. Thinkes MERCVRY, That any things, or names on earth doe die, That are obſcur'd from knowledge of the FATES, Who keepe all rolls? And know all natures dates? They ſay themſelves, th'are dead. It not appeares. Or, by our rocke. Our ſpindle. Or our ſheeres. Here all their threds are growing, yet none cut. I'gin to doubt, that Love with charmes hath put This phant'ſie in'hem; and they onely thinke That they are ghoſts. If ſo, then let'hem drinke Of LETHES ſtreame. 'Twill make'hem to forget LOVES name. And ſo, they may recover yet! Doe, bow unto the reverend lake: And having touch'd there; up, and ſhake The ſhadowes off, which yet doe make Us you, and you your-ſelves miſtake. See! ſee! they are themſelves agen! Yes, now the'are ſubſtances, and men. LOVE, at the name of LETHE flyes. For, in oblivion drown'd, he dyes. He muſt not hope, though other ſtates He oft ſubdue, he can the FATES.